Chapter Fifty-Five: First Arrival at Blue Sea Star

Blue Ocean Star. Ye Chong walked along the bustling street, his mask long since removed. After days without exposure to stellar radiation, his face had taken on a rare pallor. He had not parted with his black windbreaker, either—after all, it was a treasure, on par with the highest-grade protective suits. The black windbreaker, his fair features, a well-proportioned physique that did not betray any heaviness, and the indifferent expression on his face all combined to lend Ye Chong a unique, striking presence. He drew frequent, lingering glances from the beautiful women passing by.

Outwardly impassive as he strode down the street, Ye Chong was, in fact, engaged in a heated discussion with Mu in his mind.

The towering buildings, the modern architecture, the myriad aircraft roaring through the sky overhead—these sights filled Ye Chong’s eyes with wonder. What astonished him most, though, was the sheer number of people. Whether on the Garbage Star or at Blackhorn of Renault, Ye Chong had never seen such crowds.

But the topic of his lively debate with Mu was not any of these things.

“Mu, I’m starving! There isn’t even a single mutant creature here. Are those tiny things really called mice? They’re a disgrace to the name—can’t even fill the gap in my teeth! If the hundred-bite rats from the Garbage Star saw their feeble cousins here, I wonder if they’d wipe them out of existence!” Ye Chong fumed.

Mu could only reply helplessly, “Ye, there’s nothing I can do. And whose fault is it that you didn’t bring any of your gold diamonds? With that much, you could have eaten for years!” Mu’s eyes practically shone at the mention of those gold diamonds.

Ye Chong looked down at his clean, empty hands. All the advanced mechs had been left behind in his room as well. The asteroid belt was too dangerous; the spatial buttons on his hands affected his touch, so he had left everything behind. If only he still had one with him—selling it would have kept him afloat for a while!

“Why did I leave them all behind?” Ye Chong lamented.

Mu, too, was dispirited. “At this rate, I’ll soon run out of energy myself!”

Ye Chong racked his brains. “With my skills, I should have no trouble at a mech repair or modification shop, right?”

Mu’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea! With me at your side, there will be no problems!” The thought of it sent the mech into a hopeful reverie, eyes sparkling.

“But where are these repair shops?” Ye Chong brought Mu back to reality.

“That’s a problem,” Mu admitted. “But we can ask someone!”

“Ask someone?” Ye Chong nodded. “Good idea!”

After his indifferent expression had scared off five would-be informants, even Ye Chong, thick-skinned as he was, began to feel discouraged. “Am I really that frightening?”

Mu took malicious pleasure in his predicament. “It’s not your fault you’re ugly, but it is your fault for going out and scaring people!” He ignored Ye Chong’s menacing glare.

Up ahead, an elderly man was slowly making his way forward.

Ye Chong’s eyes brightened. He hurried over, a shy smile on his face, and asked, “Grandpa, may I ask you something?”

Had the previous passersby seen Ye Chong’s current expression, their eyes would surely have popped from their sockets. Mu was already used to it: Ye Chong seemed to have a natural affinity for the elderly and always treated them with special respect. His usually indifferent face would soften into a bashful smile. The first time Mu witnessed this, he’d been thoroughly startled.

With time, he had grown accustomed.

The old man looked at Ye Chong with interest. “It’s rare to see such a polite young man these days. Oh, you want to ask something? Go ahead. What do you want to know?”

Polite? Even Mu had to roll his eyes.

Ye Chong suppressed the urge to punch Mu and said shyly, “Grandpa, I’d like to know if there’s a mech repair or modification shop nearby?”

“Mech repair or modification?” The old man thought for a moment, then pointed to a street on the left. “Go that way, about two minutes’ walk and you’ll find one. There are several more ahead, but you’ll have to look carefully.”

After bidding the old man farewell, Ye Chong hurried in the direction indicated.

But after leaving several shops, Ye Chong was met each time with the same response. The shopkeepers, seeing how young he was, would shake their heads—so young, a modification expert? What a joke. At his age, just knowing the names of all the mech parts would already be impressive! Hiring? Sorry, we’re not looking for anyone.

Ye Chong lost count of how many times he was turned away. His face remained impassive, but inside he was deeply disheartened. Mu, too, was listless, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Ye Chong had no idea where he was, but it hardly mattered—everywhere was the same to him.

“Hey, Mu, what’s the point of all these trading rules? Are we supposed to starve to death here? Never heard of an iron python lizard worrying about transactions when it’s hungry!” Ye Chong grumbled to Mu.

“That’s animal behavior! You’re human, not a beast,” Mu replied feebly.

“Doesn’t matter to me. I don’t see much difference between humans and beasts anyway. I’m more used to the beast way,” Ye Chong shrugged, unconcerned. Though he found Mu’s insistence baffling, even incomprehensible, he tried his best to comply.

Mu was silent for a moment, then spoke, his tone unusually serious. “Ye, you’re in society now. You must follow the rules, or you’ll be cast out. Do you really want to go back to the Garbage Star? Ye, learn to adapt.”

Ye Chong was struck by Mu’s words and fell into thought, not noticing where his feet were taking him.

Suddenly, several chaotic shouts ahead and an old man’s pained cry snapped him out of his reverie.

He looked up—wasn’t that the very old man who had given him directions? Now he lay sprawled on the ground as several oddly dressed youths kicked him, their voices harsh and threatening. “Damn it, the old man refused to give us money, made me use force! Well, now you know pain, old man!”

One of the ruffians, a yellow-haired youth, bent to search the old man, who curled into a ball, desperately clutching his chest.

After several attempts to pry open the old man’s hands, the youth cursed furiously, “Stubborn old fool, you’d rather die than hand over your money? Fine, I’ll help you along!” With that, he drew a dagger, about to stab the old man.

Fury exploded in Ye Chong’s chest. No longer able to contain himself, he let out a roar and, in a blur, darted among the thugs. Ye Chong moved with such speed that the ruffians saw only a flicker before their throats were seized, and then darkness claimed them.

Ye Chong struck so swiftly that the sound of their throats shattering was nearly simultaneous.

Fortunately, this was a deserted corner of the city. The few passersby who witnessed the scene turned pale with fright and hurried their steps, wishing they could fly away from the area.

Mu was still excited. “So this is what it means to draw your blade in aid of the oppressed!”

With his anger spent, Ye Chong’s killing intent faded, and he thought dazedly, “But I didn’t even draw a blade.”

Suddenly, Mu remembered, “Ye, get that old man out of here! If the data I pulled from the virtual net is correct, in a few minutes someone will call the police. They’re not easy to deal with!”

“The police? Hard to deal with?” Ye Chong echoed.

“Hurry, hurry! Or at least hide nearby and let’s see what the police are like,” Mu urged.

Ye Chong immediately agreed. Scooping up the old man, he realized the elder was half-conscious, his face mottled with bruises and swelling—a miserable sight.

“Will he be all right?” Ye Chong asked with concern.

“He’s fine. A bit of concussion, the rest are just superficial injuries—nothing serious,” Mu reassured him.

Ye Chong, relieved, carried the old man some distance away, then leaped into a tall tree, crouching among the leaves to observe the scene below.

Sure enough, before long, a blue, white, and black aircraft roared in and landed at the site. Three uniformed men disembarked. Ye Chong watched with curiosity as they carefully examined each body on the ground, while Mu rapidly recorded all the information, cross-referencing it with data from the virtual net.

Suddenly, Ye Chong remembered something and groaned. “Mu, we forgot to search for loot—they might have had some credits on them!”

Mu consoled him, “I doubt they had much, or why would they be mugging old men?”

Ye Chong conceded the point, his disappointment fading.

The three officers were experienced; as they inspected the corpses, they couldn’t help but suck in a breath. The bodies all lay with eyes wide open, as if unable to believe they were dead, their necks limp, each with an obvious indentation.

The youngest of them spoke, “Brother Fei, all these men’s cervical vertebrae are crushed—they died only recently!”

The middle-aged officer added, “Brother Fei, I know all these guys. They’re under Cold Third, the local gang boss. They’re usually pretty arrogant.”

Brother Fei, studying the finger marks at the indentations, replied, “They were all killed by someone crushing their throats with bare hands.”

The other two were startled. “With bare hands? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Brother Fei lit a cigar, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and muttered, “Let’s hope this tough character is just passing through. Otherwise…” He paused, then turned to the middle-aged officer. “Xin, pass this on to Cold Third, but don’t say it came from me. Tell him he’d better keep a low profile. If he stirs up trouble… hmph.” His expression in the smoke was unreadable, and Xin quickly assented.

Brother Fei then addressed the young officer, “Zai, check for any unfamiliar faces in the area, see if anyone suspicious has turned up. But listen—don’t make a move without my orders. We can’t let him know we’re watching.”

The young man replied eagerly, “Got it, Brother Fei! Don’t worry, I’ll find him!”

The ever-shifting smoke from Brother Fei’s cigar swirled before his face, but in his heart he knew—a troublesome headache had just arrived.